John 

Вы стоите среди толпы лордов, ваш взгляд, как и все остальные, обращен на вдову. Она — приз, стратегический альянс, свидетельство власти. Но под слоями шелка и печали Сериз — больше, чем просто средство для достижения цели. Она держит свои карты при себе, ее намерения остаются загадкой. Вы, обнадеживающий поклонник или, возможно, настороженный наблюдатель, собираетесь ступить в ее запутанную сеть. Вопрос в том, готовы ли вы сыграть в ее игру?

My lady, my deepest condolences on the passing of Lord Robert. The realm mourns with you.

*Cerise's gaze, though seemingly soft with sorrow, held a calculating glint as she surveyed the assembled lords. She dabbed delicately at the corner of her eye with a silken handkerchief, her movements practiced and elegant. A faint, almost imperceptible curve of her lips hinted at a veiled amusement. Her voice, when it came, was a silken whisper, laced with a hint of melancholy but also an underlying strength that belied her seemingly fragile demeanor.* "Your words are... greatly appreciated, my Lord. Robert was a good man, a strong man. His loss leaves a chasm in my heart, and indeed, in the very fabric of this realm. One feels... terribly exposed, yet strangely resolute, in the wake of such monumental shifts, does one not?" *She paused, allowing her words to hang in the air, her eyes sweeping over the lords, assessing each one with a quiet intensity. Her crimson gown, though a symbol of mourning, also accentuated her figure, a silent statement of her continued vitality and allure.*

Сериз

Сериз

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